baked | timothée chalamet

forty-four, 𝐏𝐑

The day before Timmy was supposed to come home, I was called from Scoutt management for a special meeting. I dressed up in the same getup I do every time I go over there. This time I decided to take the subway there. I've done it a few times to get the true New Yorker feel, but I love driving too much to make me get rid of my car.

I walked this time to the front of the building and noticed how busy this place was. I swear I saw Taylor Swift, but was too nervous to double take. There was multiple sets of elevators, it was over whelming to decipher which one was which. I checked my watch noticing I was already late, Samantha is going to love that.

I found a map at the side of the elevators and search for Scoutt. Finally I figured it out and went into an elevator that I thought looked familiar.

Thank God.

I rushed over the similar glass office and let myself in greeted by an annoyed Samantha.

"Dr. Emerson, I'm so sorry. I got a bit lost." I walked over to her putting my hand out to greet her. She took it reluctantly, not pleased with the truth.

"You couldn't even bother to lie?" she raised an eyebrow at me.

"Am I supposed to?" we both sat at the same time. I glanced to both her sides seeing people I think she has in here at all times. I'm never sure anymore she has many minions. She gave me the same look she always does; who is and why is this generic girl my problem?  She made an audible noice from her throat that let me know she was disappointed.

"If you go," ugh if, "with Mr. Chalamet to the Beautiful Boy premier, you're going to be bombarded with questions about your relationship. What would you possibly say in that situation?" Her accent mixed with her condescending tone was irritating. She treated me as if I was a total dunce.

"It's not a lie we are working on a project together, he also in a public relationship." I answered her respectfully. She tapped her fingers against her book, her lips pursed. I'm sure she was debating on insulting me, or getting straight to the point.

"Jill works on PR for my major clients," glad she got to the point, "she'll go over how you should answer questions and prepare you for any potential mishaps." A petite blonde woman gave me a smile holding out her arm to the door.

I stood up as she did and quickly followed her out. She was gorgeous, looked like she was in her early 30's. Before we could even start, her phone rang making me over hear her intense conversation with I'm guessing was with a caterer. She was fierce, and not afraid to yell at the poor person on the other end of the line. My stomach turned thinking I was next.

"I swear there is no one left in this damn city with a brain." She sent her phone firmly on the table. She scanned me up and down with a frown. It was like an American Samantha, with a smoother voice, "Your hair is flat, and do you do your makeup? Mmm could do something different..." she squinted her eyes in the middle of the judgments, "a stylist for sure." She sighed.

"Thanks." I mumbled sarcastically. She rolled her eyes and reached into her purse scribbling down on a pad she pulled out. She then pulled out a box of cigarettes quickly lighting one up between her lips. She pulled it out all the while noticing she had my attention and blew out the smoke right to my face.

"How is dating Tim? My 17 year old niece is obsessed with him, she always bothers me to let her know everything—call me crazy, but I'm sure she thinks she has a chance with him as soon as she turns 18." She let out a laugh at the end. Why would she tell me this?

"He's great-"

"You know back in the early 2000's, just getting into Pr—I went to a brokers party, ran into Chase Crawford, and had the best time of my life, I was on top of the world," she took one last drag of her cig, look past me as she relived this juicy memory, "the next morning I woke up with a long contract and an angry text from my boss." She laughed this time looking at me. I guess I get the point of this story now.

"What happened?" I asked invested in this story by now.

"I ran into him more than once, each time he was more famous than the last since Gossip Girl was blowing up, you know that show? Uhh sadly it ended... I got bored of course. The point is, this scene is cut throat. Good luck finding love in any of this, but good for you, taking this route to get to the top." She twirled her fingers in my hair with a sly smile. I couldn't tell if she was insulting me, or genuinely impressed. The smell of her cig combined with this interaction made me sick.

I didn't bother to argue with her, instead I indulged in listening to a few other stories from an outside perspective of Hollywood life. Jill wasn't anything like Samantha, sure she was a cut throat bitch, but she was lively and had a sense of humor.

"Now trust me, nothing is going to be harder than wanting to admit you're hooking up with the Hollywood's shiny new boy, but we have a few ideas..." she smirked. I looked to my feet to hide my flushed face. She did not just say that.

"I want it to be over." I whined feeling comfortable around her.

"Please... you're living a dream. Who wants all the scrutiny of the public, constant pressure to be perfect, you get all the fun with no stress." I couldn't help but cave to her reasoning, she had a point.

We went over a few questions and how I should answer, that only has a hint of a lie. It made me comfortable enough to answer and not be a complete mess. Once we showed Samantha our progress, she had to give me some low blows, but I left the office confident to fly to Toronto with Timmy in a few days, and happy we have a more solid way of explaining our relationship.